


Within Whose Circuit is Elysium

by Odile (Odileheroin_e)



Series: Unfinished Works - not finished and probably never will be [2]
Category: Richard II - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Excessive Salivating, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odileheroin_e/pseuds/Odile
Summary: Unfinished Works #3: an AU in which Henry really, really wants Richard’s cock.





	Within Whose Circuit is Elysium

**Author's Note:**

> as I am contractually obliged to remind you: this is an UNFINISHED WORK. I am publishing this because I did do work for this, and I'd like to share that work too. unfortunately, I just ran out of creativity fuel to finish this. I hope you'll enjoy this poor ficlet regardless.
> 
> sick, silly, sexy, take your pick. the forced bard reference in the title is from Henry VI, Part 3 (“How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; | Within whose circuit is Elysium | And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.”) 

“Sickening, incestuous, unnatural”, he thinks when his mouth waters upon the thought of Richard again like the flood that once destroyed the Earth. It was a lonely, passing notion, a mere flash of a thought, but it rushes over him and reigns his whole existence in an instant. It demands so much willpower to stop it from happening, all too much of it. It is like a demonic curse sent by some hideous witch, a spell of lusty rapture that overtakes him, should he but look at his cousin; like a man possessed, _obsessed_ , his gaze is almost unwillingly fixed to Richard’s robes where the bare skin of his legs can almost be seen through the white cloth every time he sees him. 

He prays to the God that has probably forsaken and damned him that no-one would come to his chamber to look at him now, for he must look mad with lust. His imagination runs rampant and unbridled, his mind wanders into forbidden gardens where there is only Henry Bolingbroke and King Richard II. He tries to control his breathing and remain calm, but the dream-images that refuse to fade from the sight of his mind’s eye scorch him like the flames of Hell. Hot rushes of blood flush to his cheeks and to the place he reaches for and touches with a rough hand in his bed. So, he burns and boils with his sin and lets the fantasy take him. 

 _He kneels in front of Richard_ _, as_ _a lowly subject of his holy king_ _should. Richard’s hand swims into his hair, demanding, possessive. He_ _nry_ _begins to shake, and with fumbling fingers he pushes aside_ _the cloth that hides_ _the_ _object_ _of_ _his_ _desire, worship and painful obsession._ _He breathes deep, hot_ _breaths to_ _the tip of Richard’s cock, closes his eyes in ecstatic bliss and opens his_ _mouth that_ _nearly_ _overflows_ _with saliva. Slowly, he dra_ _ws closer to the_ _majestic_ _member and lets his lips_ _close around the very tip in a light,_ _adoring kiss_ _, as careful as one’s first kiss_ _. Richard’s hand smooths his hair and rubs the back of his neck,_ _ever so lightly, but so demandingly_ _._ _Henry lets out a brief, pained whine and moves his hands to Richard’s waist. He kisse_ _s Richard’s_ _cock again, a_ _s if he would be kissing his_ _mouth: lips smooth and full against the skin, tongue only just thrusting out to feel the other man._ _Richard’_ _s hand becomes_ _heavier on his neck, his fingers making_ _expectant circles on Henry’s skin._  

Here he shakes himself off from the brittle scene of imagination: he realises that he could have him now. Such is the combined depth of Henry’s desire and despair, the newly crowned King of England that he, now lying flushed, naked and agonised with lust in his royal bed, would fetch the wretch of a deposed king to free himself from the flames of passion and guilt. 

 

* * *

 

Agonised, Henry waits out every second that passes since the command leaves his flesh-thirsty lips. He bites his lip, his fingers wander all over his salty body and shun his own throbbing erection in wait of Richard’s. _He wants him_ , he wants him on his lips, on his tongue, dribbling down his face, in his palm, between his fingers, _in_ _side_ _him._ A slow drop of drool wets the sheets his cheek is pressed on, he wipes the corner of his lip and the heat of shame joins that of lust, the flames now soaring higher than before.  

And so the King’s wish is fulfilled; Richard of Bordeaux is washed, clothed to his former robes and brought to his bedchamber from the dark depths of the Tower. The door is shut and they are alone. Henry breathes heavily and stares at Richard, intoxicated with lust.  

“What does my liege want of me?” Richard asks softly. The depth and softness of his voice and the sorrow mixing with contempt so apparent in it makes Henry think of water, the fountains in secret orchards.  

He stops to swallow and his gaze starts wandering again, like the moon is drawn to the Earth his eyes are drawn to Richard’s waist. He closes his eyes in embarrassment, turns his head away and opens his eyes again to stare at the stony corner of his chamber.  

   
“Come here, pray you.” A hastily muttered plea. 

He does, to Henry’s grand surprise. 


End file.
